Yesterday, a stranger made me cry. This was not her intention; she was very much the trigger, not the cause, but either way, a woman I don’t know showed me so much kindness, I shed tears.
I will give you some context.
It was 3.12pm, Leo and I were on our way to collect Maia from school. We were slightly behind schedule but not officially running late. He was overtired and hadn’t napped, but it was only a very short journey.
By 3.16pm Leo was asleep in his car seat. This was a disaster.
I knew I was going to have to attempt the transfer. Every parent knows and dreads the transfer. Car to bed. Pushchair to car. Car to pushchair.
A successful transfer could make the difference between a quiet evening to yourself and a late night with your re-energised toddler.
A good night’s sleep or a vastly disturbed one. Unauthorised naps are enough to change the course of a parent’s day entirely.
In my case; a successful transfer would have meant a swift (and quiet) five-minute walk to the school gate and a relaxed, happy mother.
You can see where this is going.
Wishing I could astral-project myself into the school playground so I could leave this sleeping toddler in his car seat where he so clearly needed to remain, I opened the back door.
He was snoring.
I gently un-clicked his carseat straps and took his little arms out, still harbouring a dwindling hope that he stay mercifully asleep. His right arm was barely out before both eyes bolted open and the stirring began.
Placing him in his stroller, he fought me on clicking his straps, wailing “Nooo!” in devastation.
“I want to walk,” he cried. But now there wasn’t the time. Walking when late always ended in me scooping him up in my arms and jogging the last part.
Kicking his legs out in protest, I was not up for carrying a kicking and screaming wriggly toddler. (This “walk” concept works great in theory, but a toddler’s walk from A-to-B can look rather different to an adult’s.
There is stopping, staring, changing direction, not to mention all manner of emotional outbursts.)
I considered giving in and letting him walk (largely to spare the hearing of every pedestrian nearby), but remembered my mother’s words: “DON’T let him get what he wants. He will just scream every time.”
Surely this didn’t count, he was just overtired?
Trusting my own mother, and now determined not to give in (or be late), I pushed my bellowing boy towards the school, trying to remember to breathe. Three minutes in, still screaming, he’d already undone his straps.
“No, Leo, you’ll fall out without the straps…” I said, panicked by this image.
“NOOO,” he howled, jutting his legs out. We grappled over stroller straps. Me and a two-year-old.
“Leo, let me, just, DO THE STRAPS…” I snapped back viciously, securing him in as my guilt quickly took over.
It was then that a kind face appeared out of nowhere.
“I’ll push him, you have a moment…” She said, calmly taking the stroller.
“I… er… OK…” I was speechless.
The tears started falling. Where had the tears come from?
“It’s so draining, the screaming…” I said. (This wasn’t the first time that day.)
“I know. It’s when we doubt ourselves, don’t doubt yourself, you’re doing a great job.”
She said, putting her arm around me.
I didn’t know what to say. But I chose to believe her.
Angela blogs at The Colourful Kind
